Forward

The girls come from many places. I really don't care, actually. But once they are with me, they move with me, wherever I decide to go. I move often, never staying too long anywhere. The girls, once they find me, are mine... until, of course, I've had enough of them. Then I discard them without even looking back. I figure, let the bitches figure out how to put their pathetic little lives back together in a strange place. Serves each one of them right.

Their mommies should have told them not to talk to strangers.

This is the second installment of "Don't Talk to Strangers," and it's a tale that I call, "Barbie the Bitch."

A pretty face don't make no pretty heart,
I learned that, buddy, from the start!
You think I'm cute, a little bit shy?
Momma, I ain't that kind of guy!
Doctor, doctor, give me the news,
I got a bad case of loving you!
No pill's gonna cure my ill,
I got a bad case of loving you!

-- Bad Case of Loving You (Robert Palmer)

I actually attended college for a couple of semesters. I wanted to study psychology to figure out why I was so different from other people. I took the simple "101" level courses to find out the more appropriate courses for the next semester, and then attempted to take courses that allowed me to "study myself."

Getting in and out of classes was easy. Despite the costs of college, it's easy to simply audit courses, especially those that are in the big lecture halls. The big tuition bills are for people that require a piece of paper that says that they're pretty smart people. I don't know. Paying so much money for that silly piece of paper doesn't seem all that smart to me.

Anyway, people never give me a second look unless I turn on the charm. I must emit some sort of "keep away" signal that the mind interprets that tells most people not to fuck with me. Even campus security gave me a wide berth. People that do notice me are the girls that would eventually wish that they hadn't.

I anticipated that those eight or nine months would more or less be a dry spell for me, sexually. I mean, I could have had any girl that I wanted, but my usual style is to take one, use her until there's nothing more to take, and then move on. Staying in one location for an extended period of time made my usual operation difficult. I figured that I would just turn off the charm, except for special occasions (hey... I'm not a monk!).

After destroying scores of lives, the same old thing sort of grows on you.

I found out almost immediately that taking a college coed was way too easy. All the guys on campus knew it and did so, and none had my talents. It's common knowledge that you could promise a girl some beer, a joint, or even chocolate and most of them would drop to their knees with your dick in their mouths faster than President Bush could declare war in the middle east. The girls figured they were sowing wild oats. I call it "learning to be a cunt."

I've never credited females with having brains, and coeds were living proof of that fact.

I am indeed a sociopath, I found out. I had only suspected this before, but now, studying these books, it was quite obvious. I was also classified as a misogynist, but I preferred the term "realist." I knew females for what they really are: warm buckets to accept my semen--nothing more and nothing less.

I think the term misogynist was invented by a feminist, which would be a pretty funny joke. In reality, I have found that feminists are more female-hating than I ever would be. I mean, telling females that they are the equals of the opposite sex is just uselessly getting their hopes up. It's cruel and it's females hurting females. How stupid is that? I'm not against girls physically abusing one another, by the way, but I had done so in the privacy of an apartment or hotel room. Feminists do it publicly. They should be shot!

As I said, females are so fucking stupid, it's pitiful. It just makes it easier for people like me to pick them up, fuck their brains out, and turn them into sex addicts for the rest of their lives.

As a sociopath, I don't live by any rules other than my own. For the most part, society stays away from me, and I stay away from society, except when I feel the hunger for a girl. Usually even then, it's the girl that seeks me out.

So why was I becoming a part of society, attending college? Curiosity, perhaps. Maybe a need to understand myself, but I found that I had no secrets from myself. I knew what I was, and how I worked. I admit that I'm a monster, the kind of person that could be your worst nightmare. I did not lie to myself, like those feminists did. I am brutally honest and frank about myself.

Did I hate myself? Of course not. Hating myself would mean that I actually thought that the things that I do are morally wrong. That's definitely not the case! I did consider myself a monster, but I thought that to mean that I was different in a way that most people would find alarming.

I thought taking the courses would explain to me why I did the things I do, and they didn't. It took me close to two semesters to realize that it was all gobbledygook. Nobody had a fucking clue as to why some people were sociopaths, other than to suggest that something was wrong with the wiring of their brains. That was pure, unadulterated bullshit. I figured that the only thing different about me was that I saw things differently. Reality and truth had different meanings for me than it did for most people. That didn't change the truthfulness of my reality, though. It all comes down to perspective.

As I made my discovery, I found myself in a lecture hall, shaking my head in disgust. This had all been a fucking waste of time!

"Mr. Frees, I'd like to speak with you after class."

I looked up. I had used the name Frees while in college. It wasn't my real name, and I wasn't even on the lists of students that were supposed to be in the class. I think I used that name for something or other in the bookstore when I had some dumb cunt purchase me the "abnormal psych" book in pristine condition for me.

I will admit here, parenthetically, that some females have money. They can be useful that way, too. I hereby state for the record that I also did fuck that coed hard and long all that night, in the living area of her sorority, in all three holes, and I made sure she was very vocal in her appreciation of me. She was therefore useful the normal way as well.

Back at the lecture hall, I had to admit that I had no idea how this professor found out my name.

The entire class was silent. This professor normally did not direct her attention to any student unless a student made an appointment to meet with her during her office hours.

"Are you talking to me?" I asked, refusing to be cowed in front of a bunch of mere students, especially by a female.

"Yes, Mr. Frees. Make an appointment to meet with me today." The professor then turned away from me and resumed her discussion.

A couple of things were obvious to me. The professor had an interest in me. Sure, I was one of the older students in the class, and I never did any of the assignments. As I said, I simply audited the course, and didn't even attend all the lectures. I wondered why the professor wanted to talk with me.

I shrugged. I knew that people don't normally fuck with me, but if the professor wanted to see me, it would be my duty to make sure she wouldn't forget me. I got up, picked up my stuff, and loudly walked out of the lecture, making sure the door closed noisily. I proceeded directly to the professor's office. Her receptionist looked up at me.

"Dr. Finella wants me to schedule an appointment for today."

The receptionist frowned. "I don't think she has any openings for you today..."

"She has a minimum of three openings that I might be interested in. However, I just want you to schedule me, Mr. Frees, as her last appointment at four o'clock today. Cancel any appointments of hers that might follow it, since she will be quite busy."

The receptionist simply nodded and did as I requested.

I loved it when people just shut up and did what I said. It made life so easy. At least, the girl knew her place.

I smiled as I left the office. I had a few hours to waste, so I went to the library and started reading portions of "120 Days of Sodom." After all, I hadn't really been enjoying myself as much as I usually do, and I figured that I could use the advice from an expert.

As people passed me, a few noticed my reading material. When I encountered a girl that audibly gasped in recognition of the author, I made her take her place under the reading table, giving Oscar some appreciative licks.

Nobody, not even the head librarian, made any comment about the sexual activity going on beneath my table. As I said, most people just don't fuck with me.

I didn't let Oscar shoot off. I just had the girls that were bathing him keep his attention riveted.

I was partway through the fourth day of Sodom when my watch alarm went off. I got up, told the three coeds that were under the table, loudly, that they could get up and get dressed, and wandered in the direction of the professor's office.

As I walked, I wondered about de Sade's anal fixations. To me, it seemed to be just a power trip, a desire to exert ones superiority over another. The only problem with anal that I had found--and it was just a minor one--was that unless you have a mirror handy, you don't see the reaction of the person you're screwing when you do it in their ass. Another problem I had with de Sade was that he didn't mind fucking youngsters, nor did he seem to prefer females to males. For some reason, this just seemed wrong to me. Of course, we live in different times, nowadays. The famous de Sade spent quite a lot of time in prison for his writings, so he might not have always had a choice in these matters. I also guess that some of that psychobabble horse shit was sticking to me. I sighed.

I arrived at the professor's office at three fifty-five. The receptionist shivered slightly as I entered the room, no doubt remembering how I had so easily made her reschedule the doctor's appointments around for the day.

Smiling at the receptionist, I watched her press the intercom button. "Doctor Finella, your four o'clock is here. A Mr. Frees."

"Have him wait there until I'm ready for him."

The receptionist looked up at me and shrugged.

I shrugged back and offered the receptionist my hand.

With an uncertain look on her face, the receptionist took my hand, looking at me as if Julia Child had just been handed a lump of shit. I took her hand firmly and pulled her into a standing position. "I think it might be best for you to accompany me. Lock the door to this room and then direct me to the doctor's office."

Silently, the receptionist obeyed me. She led me down a hallway and knocked on a door, all the time, looking at her hand where I touched her.

"Who's that?" the doctor asked, sounding unhappy.

"It's Candy. I have Mr. Frees..."

"I told you to have him wait, you mindless twit!"

I had enough of this. I opened the door and dragged Candy inside.

"Shut your fucking mouth, doctor!" I said in a commanding voice.

The doctor's mouth shut completely. She had a look of genuine surprise on her face. Looking from me to her receptionist, the surprise turned to fear.

"Candy? Is that your name?" I asked, turning to the receptionist.

"Y-yes, sir."

"Thank you, Candy," I said. "You'll be here as a witness. The doctor and I will be having a simple discussion of the class she teaches. As far as anybody else is concerned, nothing untoward will happen in this room."

"Of course," Candy replied.

"Are you married, Candy?"

"I have a boy friend."

"Good," I said and turned to the doctor. "Doctor Finella, are you married?"

The doctor looked up at me, frightened. She did not answer.

"You may talk, only to answer my questions, sweetie."

The professor reddened when I called her "sweetie." I grinned at her menacingly.

"I'm not married."

"Any boy friends?"

"No."

"Girl friends? Lovers?"

The doctor looked disgusted. "Of course not."

"Too bad," I said, smiling. I turned back to Candy, who still looked shocked, although not as frightened as the professor. "Candy, you have been most helpful. I'll give you some freedom here. You will not have to participate in the fun that I will have with Doctor Finella. Of course, you will be utterly truthful to me."

"OK," Candy said, still not exactly sure what was happening.

I returned my attention to the desk, where the doctor was still sitting silently, her face now a mask of terror. I saw a name plate that identified her as "Doctor Barbara Finella, Ph.d"

"Barbie," I said, liking my professor's name. "You and me are going to have a little fun."

I then turned to Candy and pointed to a chair, indicating that she should sit down. She did, and I moved to the other side of the desk.

"Barbie," I said. "I think I'd prefer to use your chair. Take the other chair opposite Candy."

Silently, the professor stood. You could see hatred in her eyes as she watched me sit down in her chair.

I leaned back and put my feet onto the desk, intentionally crushing some papers underneath my heels. I grinned at Candy and started talking.

"So, Candy, how long have you been working for Barbie?"

"I've been working for Professor Finella..."

"Barbie," I corrected.

Candy looked at her boss and blanched. "For Barbie... for... um... three years."

"How would you describe Barbie?" I asked.

"Describe her?" Candy looked confused.

"Is she a nice person to work for?"

Candy paused. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but it refused. Apparently, Candy was going to lie to me and found that she couldn't. She tried a couple more times, and then said, "B-Barbie can... sometimes be... difficult."

"Difficult?"

"Yes."

I turned to Barbie, who was now staring at her employee with open hatred. "Barbie, do you really give Candy a difficult time?"

"I do no such fucking thing!" Barbie spat.

I sighed. I was going to have to teach some lessons to my little professor. "As much as I like a slut that swears, Barbie, I think you need to learn respect. Every time you are about to use a swear word in a derogatory way, even if you are just thinking it, you will lose an item of clothing. You will then tell us what word you were thinking, if that was what caused you to lose an item of clothes. This order is retroactive to your last comment."

The professor looked at me as if I was crazy. However, I noticed that she was slipping off one high heel as she did so. I idly wondered if I should allow a shoe to count as an item of clothing, but then I saw her slip off the other shoe, saying, almost silently, "Shit."

Our professor apparently just thought another bad word. Oh, my. Maybe shoes should count--I don't think she was going to last very long with her mind in the gutter like that.

Returning my attention to Candy, I continued, "Describe your boss as accurate as you can in a single word."

Candy looked as if she were in a Bizarro world. Here I was, taking advantage of Barbie and herself, and she found herself compelled to answer me truthfully in front of her own boss. "Demanding?" Candy finally uttered.

"Are you a demanding boss, Barbie?" I asked the professor, who was now removing a scarf from her neck, after uttering the word, "Cunt."

Barbie glared at me and then at her employee. "I require promptness when I ask for things."

"Sounds like a real bitch to me," I observed. "Is Barbie a bitch, Candy?"

"Y-yes," Candy said after a pause.

"I guess my job will be to tame the bitch, then."

Barbie was removing her suit jacket now to the word "Shit," leaving her with just a white blouse, a skirt, what appeared to be panty hose and a bra. She had already lost four items of clothing already.

"Candy, how much longer before we see Miss Sugar Tits over there in all her glory?"

Candy shrugged and said, barely whispering, "Five minutes?"

I watched as Barbie mumbled "Cunt!" again, and then started unbuttoning her blouse, her eyes furious at the two of us.

Candy flinched at the nastiness that her boss just expressed.

"You were thinking that about Candy? The poor lass that has been working for you and taking your shit for years?"

Without hesitation, Barbie nodded in the affirmative, while bringing her blouse off her shoulders.

The professor was wearing a white, utility brassiere. Nothing fancy, nor desirable.

"Nice tits, although a bit on the small side," I sneered.

Barbie did not take my bait, and remained where she was, knowing now that even thinking bad thoughts would get her to strip. She was being cowed.

From my experience, it takes a woman about an hour to be completely subjugated to my power. During that time, there is an amusing period when her old mind interacts with the more docile new mind. I could see this starting to happen, and I wondered if I could stop it. I wanted the professor to remain her old bitchy self. I didn't want her as a fuck toy. I just wanted to teach her a lesson.

"Candy, do you have any cameras in the office?"

"N-no," Candy stammered.

"Is the bookstore still open?"

"Yes."

"Get a disposable camera for me. Meet me back in this office as soon as you can. Don't talk to anybody unnecessarily and don't mention what you've seen here."

"OK," Candy said, hurrying off.

Barbie watched Candy go, reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra.

"What was the word this time?" I asked, having missed it. "No penalty, of course."

"Fucking," Barbie spat.

I grinned. "You'll be doing that in just a bit," I said. "No need to hurry it along."

"You're going to rape me."

"No. I don't rape people. I'm not a rapist, sweetie pie."

"You need help," the doctor said, realizing that she was able to speak to me as if in reply to what I was saying to her.

"Do you think I need help? Should I get the football team to come over and give me a hand?"

Barbie blanched at my suggestion and uttered the word, "Shit!" as she freed her tits from the confining bra. I had been correct. They were smallish, about a 32-B. Her nipples were quite hard, I noticed. "N-no," she finally answered.

"It's interesting that you chose to remove your bra rather than your skirt. It makes me wonder what surprises you have in store underneath it."

The good doctor went from almost pure white to beet red in just a few seconds. It was comical.

"Are you on the pill?" I asked.

I think that question confirmed to the doctor my intentions. She nodded, her face starting once again to drain of color.

"You have taken your last birth control pill, Barbie," I pronounced. "From now on, you will never use any form of birth control. You will not use a condom, diaphragm, or any other sort of barrier-style birth control, nor will you use any regular or morning-after pills. No foams or other contraceptive sprays. No pulling out before orgasm, no rhythm method. Every time you fuck, you will realize that the person you're fucking could be the daddy of your child. You will carry your children to term, and then give them up for adoption."

The only reaction from my order was Barbie unzipping her skirt.

"What was the word, Barbie? I didn't hear."

"Fuck."

I pointed downward to Oscar, my ever trusting friend. I simply said, "Daddy!" Oscar jumped in delight as I said that.

Of course, I knew that Barbie was still protected by her birth control pills. I just said that last bit to up her anxiety level. It worked.

The skirt dropped to reveal a white pair of panties with light little pink elephants on it. In the middle, it said, in light blue letters, "BUSH/CHENEY 2000." Underneath, she was wearing a pair of stockings, giving lie to my thought that she had been wearing panty hose.

"Oh, dear," I said, noticing the political panties.

Barbie's reaction was to blush once more.

"Republican panties. I didn't even know they sold these."

"Penalties are over. I like those," I said, indicating the professor's panties. "Feel free to speak, but you may not leave this room until I allow you to do so."

"What you are doing is rape," Barbie hissed.

"Is not! Is not! Is not!" I said in a child's sing-song voice.

"You have me here, against my will, and intend to force me to do sexual acts."

"I have a hundred witnesses at the lecture hall that heard you specifically request that you see me in your office. That was by no means against your will. Candy will be back and will swear that nothing happened in this room, except maybe you came on to me. You have no case, sweetie."